Netagiri , livre ebook

Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd. - Cyrus Broacha

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

104 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

When Jay Huskee-the grand patriarch of the Huskee clan-falls out of a window and goes missing, he sets off a sequence of events that results in one of the biggest political showdowns in the history of the country of Gyaandostaan. In his absence, his grandson Paul must now stake claim to what is rightfully his. Backed by an ebullient 'crack' team, Paul must now confront his greatest fears-including talking to girls-to rescue his people from an oppressive regime. Riotous and riveting, Netagiri takes a satirical look at a power-obsessed society by India's original funnyman.

Informations

Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	01 octobre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184006506
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0420€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Cyrus Broacha

NETAGIRI
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Contents
By the Same Author
Dedication
Introduction
Introduction to Introduction
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
Epilogue
A Note on the Author
Author s Note
Acknowledgements
Follow Random House
Copyright
By the Same Author
The Average Indian Male
Karl, Aaj aur Kal
To my son Mikhaail, my daughter Maya, and my German Shepherd Ruffo.
You guys often wonder why your dad doesn t have a job. I could take the easy way out and say I m not your dad. Instead, I ve decided to write a book. After reading this book you ll know why I don t have a job and why all three of you must work very hard to provide for me. Especially you, Ruffo.
Your... er... dad.
Introduction
After his first book, which was semi-autobiographical, and then a second, which was as close to a foray in socio-cultural anthropology as a weightlifter could make, with this third book Netagiri, Cyrus Broacha surely enters a thoroughfare that was earlier traversed only by the likes of Henry David Thoreau, Aldous Huxley, and Lalu Prasad Yadav. Politics.
Ordinarily, politics is not a subject you would bargain for Cyrus Broacha to commonly attempt. The topics you d expect him to write about would be The Cryological Genesis of the Hair Weave , The Entomological Nature of the Common Tick , Metaphysical Poets from Cusrow Baug , and How to Measure the Bust of a Female Bodybuilder . So you d probably think of this book as a departure.
But politics to Cyrus is second nature. Not many people know that he established himself as a seasoned political practitioner from the day he first pinched his Montessori teacher s behind and blamed it on Pakistan. He s never looked back since.
As a young boy studying in college, he never once bought a textbook, pen, or paper but instead borrowed from any poor willing soul; all the while insisting he try out a socioeconomic system structured upon common ownership. He called it Communism.
As a sophomore actor on the English stage, he celebrated many an opening night-drinking with the cast at popular drinking holes, enjoying the social brotherhood that theatre inspired, never having to reach into his wallet. To him this was co-operative management of the economy. He called it Socialism.
As an anchor on television, he acknowledged and welcomed all suggestions, opinions, and directives, encouraging every single person to participate in the decision-making personally. He then proceeded to do exactly what he wanted. This was his version of Democracy.
Today, as a married man with two young children, he honestly believes he is living in a Dictatorship.
With such practiced political beliefs, Cyrus could have easily found vocation as chief political advisor to Muammar al-Gaddafi or Pervez Musharraf but chose to pursue a less dignified life in satire.
Having been intimately involved in his career as a satirist for the last, give and take, twenty-five years and, especially in the last eight as partner in the weekly political send-up television show, The Week That Wasn t , I have faithfully watched his growth as he turned from amateur to professional and from ectomorph to endomorph.
His intuition, understanding, and perspicacity in grasping political rumblings and nuances is exceptional. His ability to spin a solemn story into a whimsical yarn and ruthlessly witty satires is unparalleled. And with his ever-questioning intelligence, he possesses the best perspective to take on this dubious subject, Politics.
I imagine Netagiri will be uproariously, hilariously, side-splittingly funny, and an exciting and priceless read for you. I will tell you for sure if I decide to read it.
Kunal Vijayakar
Introduction to Introduction
This is a huge mistake folks. Firstly, a work of fiction doesn t ever have an Introduction. For this I blame the publisher who believe this to be a true story. However, this is as big a yarn as man descending from apes is.
Secondly, I have never met this person Kunal Vijayakar and I deny all accusations of proximity between himself and me quite vehemently. Furthermore, his usage of words such as Sophomore actor Cryological Genesis , and Socialism are absolutely wrong as none of these words exist in the English language. His facts are all over the place. I never ever pinched my Montessori teacher s behind. I merely pressed it gently for 14 minutes. Twice. I also didn t blame it on Pakistan.
Lastly, I deny being married, although I may have discovered two children. I ask you, dear reader, to disregard the paranoid rantings of this delusional delinquent Kunal Vijayakar forthwith. I ask you instead to pay far closer attention to the paranoid rantings of this delusional delinquent namely myself instead.
Prologue
Long, long ago... or was it last month? No, long, long ago. actually some time ago...er... look, stop pressurizing me. I don t have all the details, but what I have, I ll share with you.
Although time is not clear, the geography certainly is. Our tale is set in a country which is on the right of Australia, just below North America, and very close to present day East Timor (or was it on the right of North America?). Look, the best I can do on such short notice is that the country was next to Nepal. It was a largish country and had all the features countries should have-mountains, rivers, two wild animals, traffic jams, incomplete road construction, bridges with no utilitarian value, dengue, dust, dirt, and a politician every square mile. Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree.
It was an impressive enough country. Especially if you d never been there. It was called GYAANDOSTAAN . This roughly translates into a place of two pieces of knowledge . And it was a crime to spell the country name in small letters. You had to use capitals. GYAANDOSTAAN. Even if you were just thinking of the name in your head. The Gyaandostaanis (citizens) spoke their own language. This was mistakenly called Gyaandostaani. In fact, the Gyaandostaanis didn t speak Gyaandostaani. They spoke Pupric. Gyaandostaani was spoken by a few tribes that lived off the eastern side of the Russian Steppes. Now Pupric is a very difficult language. It has no consonants. Only vowels. As a result, it appears to the outside ear as a collection of wailing sounds similar to the plaintiff cry of lost Emperor Penguins. Since you, dear reader, are not familiar with the plaintiff cry of Emperor Penguins, I have translated everything from the original Pupric into rudimentary English which can be understood by 5-year-olds who incidentally are my main reading market. But to simplify things and not make a hillside out of an ant hill, let s call the language Gyaandostaani anyway.
GYAANDOSTAAN S capital was a city called Bey. Both the action, and the lack of action (depending on how you rate this book at the end of it), takes place in Bey. Now, since this book will never release in GYAANDOSTAAN-well, it may not release in Nepal either-I ve decided to use capitals for GYAANDOSTAAN only when I feel it necessary. And I will feel it necessary when I need to fill in the page with bigger letters for the noble purpose of finishing off the story as quickly as possible in order to avoid being sued by the Emperor Penguins mentioned at the beginning of the story. Story being the original idea, but we may diversify into ditty, poem, love lyric, or even leaflet, depending of course on market conditions.
A brief history of Gyaandostaan would be warranted here. But, I don t want to be accused of spoiling you, dear reader. As the great Freddie Mercury once allegedly told his accountant, Too much detail can kill you .
Our story, in short, traces the rise of a young politician, who could have easily been mistaken for Napoleon if he was one inch taller. He rises to power with Napoleonic speed and takes the country to dizzying heights.
This book is all set to be a motion picture. And the list of actors who have turned down the lead role include Nasseruddin Shah, Irrfan Khan, and possibly, Darsheel Zaffary.
GYAANDOSTAAN S climb is a lesson to the whole world that you can go far in life, even if your country has a strange name.
Although the story s beginning is a straight lift from Herman Melville s Moby-Dick (original version), the rest of the story is almost original, and the music is perchance, never lifted. Our tale starts where most books ought to start at, a funeral.
In sector 36 of mid-town Bey, in a palace about twice the size of Buckingham, and with no Welsh corgis, the grand patriarch of the Huskee clan, Jay Huskee, had just passed away. To tell you the truth, he had passed out of a balcony window after losing his balance. He fell into an open truck carrying seaweed to Oceania. Within minutes, he was deep at sea, never to be seen again. His family took out a search party to sea, to see, but abandoned the mission after nine minutes, primarily because it started to drizzle, though of course not precisely where they were, but about 15 miles to the Northwest.
Grandfather Huskee was a career politician. Nobody knew his real age because he hadn t told the truth in 38 years.
Our story now starts with the family having returned home after the customary last rites. Since Jay Huskee s body was never found, this was performed with his favourite lighter and a handful of seaweed (perhaps, his last known adversary).
Our tale opens on the first dinner after this monumental event. (Keep in mind GYAANDOSTAANI tradition requires four days mourning followed by three days recovery before dinner can actually be served. If it is served before this, it must be served only on one leg. )
1
It was a big, old house (which I suppose is different from an old, big house, although I have no idea why), especially by Gyaandostaan s standards. Bear in mind, houses were not owned in GYAANDOSTAAN, they were occupied . All you had to do was enter an abode and never leave, which may or m